Against All Enemies
by Eagle2
Summary: As the Militia goes to war with the Global Community, one soldier discovers he must put his life in God's hands if he wants any chance of surviving.
1. Uphold and Defend

**Against All Enemies**

**Chapter 1: Uphold & Defend**

Joe Gannon ignored the rain pelting him on the head, it hardly bothered him to be out in the cold and wet. He had been in much worse places as a United States Marine; back when there _was_ a U.S. Marine Corp. Or a United States for that matter. But then, that was precisely the reason he was out on this black, rainy night, wasn't it? He sighed and adjusted his patrol cap. His Global Community Peacekeeper's uniform was surprisingly warm and comfortable. _Why do the bad guys always get the best gear_?

The sinewy, red-haired twenty one year old, fingered the MP5K submachine gun hidden under his coat. A 9mm Beretta pistol was strapped to his waist. He'd killed men before in battle; if their targets didn't want to go peacefully he would do what had to be done. But that did not mean he would enjoy it. Suburban Illinois was a long way from the deserts of Iraq but war was war. _Carpathia, you messed with the wrong country_.

"_Roadrunner to Coyote, come in, over_?" a voice crackled over his walkie-talkie. Joe's heart pumped faster. Weeks of hard work were about to pay off. A semi-truck packed with heavy weapons 'donated' to the new Global Community was rolling towards them. Potentate Nicolae Carpathia had declared that any country joining his little fascist utopia must destroy ninety percent of its war machine and donate the last ten to the GC. Some of it was about to be lost along the way.

"Coyote roger, over?" Major Stockton Evers, commander of the Illinois Volunteer Militia, stepped close to listen. He was a well-built man with brown hair in a high & tight. He had been Joe's CO in the Marines. Tonight's op was his baby.

"_ACME has delivered; say again, ACME has delivered. ETA exactly three mikes, over_,"

"Roger that, Roadrunner," he said, "set up rear blocking position, Coyote out." He pulled the MP5K from under his coat and pulled his cap down over his brow. If all went well, it would be over in minutes. No shots fired and no enemy casualties. Dead GC would just make them wanted terrorists and compromise their secrecy.

"Moment of truth, sir," Joe said. Evers smirked. Militia recon teams had ghosted the trucks for weeks, studying their routes, security and cargoes. This remote stretch of rural road was a perfect spot for an ambush. If something went wrong, there would be no witnesses. What Carpathia didn't know would eventually hurt him. The glow of headlights crept up the hill ahead of them, an18-wheeler truck, right on schedule.

"Look alive, men," Evers snapped, "we take it down by the numbers, easy as riding a bike." Joe took a deep breath and snapped the safety off his MP5K. With a snap and hiss of its brakes, the semi ground to a stop in front of the militia roadblock. Two GC troopers sat inside. Coyote team pulled up behind the semi in a GC cruiser. Joe and Major Evers strode over to the truck Evers flicking his cigarette into a puddle. The driver cranked down his window, an annoyed look on his thin face.

"Evening, fellahs," Evers said with a smile, "papers please." The driver handed over a thin blue book containing their route orders. The stocky blond passenger stared suspiciously at the two militiamen.

"What the hell's this roadblock doing here?" Blond Hair demanded, "wasn't on our maps." Evers made a show of scrutinizing the booklet, his head bobbed at length. Joe kept silent, his finger above the trigger, ready for anything. Evers handed the driver back his papers.

"Red tape; gotta make sure the trucks get to where they needs to go. And it justifies some boot kisser's ridiculous paycheck." With that, Evers yanked out his .40 caliber pistol. "Get out of the truck. Right now, both of you! Cooperate and you will not be harmed."

"Is this a joke?" Thin Face barked. His hand went for his belt and Joe whipped his MP5K to eye level, covering both men. Only now did both men notice the militia team blocking them from behind. They were heavily outgunned. Joe motioned with his gun.

"Get out, nice and slow. Hands where we can see them," he ordered. Swearing and complaining, the GC truckers climbed out of their rig. They were quickly stripped of their weapons; their hands were zip-tied behind their backs and duct tape pressed over their mouths. Joe ordered them into the backseat of one GC cruiser, and duct-taped their hands and feet together. "Let's see how long it takes you jackboots to get out of _that_!"

"Merry Christmas, from your friendly neighborhood GC!" Evers said and unlocked the back doors. Joe grinned as he saw rack after rack of rifles, machine guns, claymore mines, mortars, hand grenades and FIM-92 Stinger, heat-seeking, anti-aircraft missiles. Pallets filled with ammunition were in the very back. He couldn't wait to get this stuff back to base and sorted. He locked the doors and climbed in the front passenger seat as Evers slid behind the wheel. "What'd I tell you, Gannon? Easy as riding a bike."

By morning, the militia team arrived back at their command center, the old decommissioned Nike base in Arlington Heights. With its abandoned and crumbling buildings it was the perfect camouflage for an underground army. Most people simply pretended it did not exist. Joe worked in the former Missile Magazine Number 4 until early afternoon unpacking and reassembling the captured weapons. Already, the magazine was chock-full of weapons: machine guns, rifles, missiles, blocks of high-explosive C4 and tons of ammunition.

Joe shook his head. His life had changed so much in a few short years, going from a squared-away U.S. Marine fighting the good fight in Iraq, having joined the Marines immediately after high school. Then one day millions vanished and everything began falling apart in America and everywhere else. Nicolae Carpathia took his country away and Joe resigned from the Corp. He was an American marine, not a twinkle-toes GC peacekeeper. Major Evers formed the militia a year ago. By now, the group numbered at a hundred fifty, mostly former U.S. soldiers, civilian patriots, survivalists and even former police officers.

"Hey, Gannon!" Joe turned to see Mark Anderson threading his way through the stacks of boxes and pallets. Barely eighteen, Mark was stocky and dark-haired with a quick smile. He was one of a flood of new civilian recruits to the militia. Despite a lack of military experience the kid proved to be a quick study.

"Have fun last night?" Joe asked. Mark grinned but there were dark circles under his friend's eyes. "Townsend said you handled yourself pretty well on the raid."

"Not quite what I expected," Mark said with a shrug, "I pictured a lot of shooting."

"Just wait, you'll get all the shooting you want." Joe opened a case of FIM-92 Stingers and Mark whistled. He picked one up and hefted it a few times. The missile tube was nearly five feet long.

"Dude, this thing is awesome, how's it work?" Joe grinned. He had only ever used Stingers in training at Camp Pendleton. The first time he shot a down an F-4 Phantom target drone with one was like his birthday and Christmas on the same day. He taught Mark how to acquire a target and pull the trigger. "Could you shoot down a big plane with this?"

"Like _Global Community One_?" Joe said and they both laughed, "it'd be a sitting duck. Those huge turbofans would attract these missiles like wolves to red meat. Carpathia won't know what hit him."

"Not even his Royal Dudeness can survive that," Mark said. He aimed the Stinger at a nearby wall and squeezed the trigger. "Boom!" Joe smiled at the mental image of _Global Community One_ crashing in a huge fireball. Somebody had to stand up to that silver-tongued shyster. He owned America, Gerald Fitzhugh wasn't even the president anymore but an advisor to the GC ambassador. _He's just like Hitler, but with an attitude_.

"Hear from your girlfriend since she got locked up?" Joe asked. Mark told them all about the _Underground_ newspaper at their high school that got them hunted like criminals by the 'open-minded and tolerant' faculty. All because it talked about God and Jesus; Vicki Byrne got tossed in the clink for it. The America he had fought for was now gone.

"We get her letters," Mark sighed, "NDC is a hellhole. I don't even want to think about what kind of GC brainwashing they're subjecting her to. But Vick's a tough chick, you don't mess with her."

Joe opened a box of M240 machine guns. "War sucks. Hopefully, this GC bullshit won't be a problem for much longer." He picked one of the guns and took aim at an imaginary GC peacekeeper. He could only pray that he would be picked to pull the trigger on Nicolae himself.

"When are we gonna _do_ something?" Mark asked, "let's get to war already and take Carpathia out!" Joe's hands shook and he put the machine gun down. It had been two years since he fought in Iraq but the memories were still fresh. He had nightmares every other night. His first week home, the fireworks on July 4th nearly drove him mad. Friends had died. Men had been killed. This baby-faced little brat had no idea what war was really like.

"Don't be so eager to fight, kiddo. I left my sanity and a pint of my blood in Iraq. Once we fire on GC troops we become traitors. Outlaws. The entire world will be on our asses. This isn't a game, Mark. We're not going to act until we have a firm battle plan. Major Evers'll let us know when the time has come. Get me?" Joe hadn't meant to sound so harsh but it was out before he could stop it.

"Chill out, I'm just saying."

"Sorry. I just want to make sure you understand what we're up against." Just then, Pete Townsend, Evers's second in command, stuck his head in the door. He was a wiry, grey-haired man in his fifties with tattoos on both arms. He used to ride with an outlaw motorcycle club after fighting in Desert Storm '91.

"Hey fellahs, meeting at the com center in five." Joe saluted and followed him up the ladder topside. The sun was bright in a clear blue sky and the remains of a recent snowfall covered the ground. With their weapons hidden underground, nobody outside the perimeter fence had any idea what was really happening right under their noses. For now, it was a secret war.

Joe and Mark stepped inside the former missile launch building. Behind tightly closed blinds it was now a modern command center. Flat screens covered the walls and laptop computers sat on every table top. Tactical displays stood at the front of the room. An American flag and a flag of the state of Illinois flanked the door way. Joe smelled fresh coffee. Major Evers wrapped up a phone call and stood up.

"Listen up, meeting time!" Evers never had a problem being heard without raising his voice. He said it thanks to having three older brothers. Conversations ceased as the assembled militia gave their commander their undivided attention. He picked up a clipboard and cleared his throat.

"Firstly, our ops last night were a success. No enemy casualties and we netted quite a few GC toys. Every weapon we get our hands on is one less that Mr. World Peace can use against us one day. Our intelligence reports indicate that several groups around the country are doing the same thing. Carpathia's grip on America is slipping by the day."

"I want all of you to understand that our actions have made us traitors to the Global Community. Nicolae won't hesitate to hunt us down and kill us. Mark here can tell you all about that. His friend's locked up for writing a paper about God. Well, the militia stands with her. We fight for America, not some touchy-feely socialist utopia. And when the time is right, we strike fast and we strike hard. The GC will fall and a stronger, wiser America will rise from its ashes. It's not the first time Americans fought for their freedom and it won't be the last."

"Hoorah!" Joe shouted. A chorus of 'semper fis' and even a few 'hoo-ahs' from the Army guys filled the room, Evers grinned and flipped a page on his clipboard.

"Okay, lock it up. I received a call last night from none other than Gerald Fitzhugh himself. Seems he and Nicky ain't BFFs no more. How sad. Since getting the boot from his own damn White House, he wants Carpathia gone as much as we do. He's called a meeting with me and two other militia leaders in Texas three days from now." Joe and Mark looked at each other.

"I've decided to accept his offer. The sooner we hammer out a battle plan the better. Pete, Joe, pack your bags. You're going to Texas with me." Joe did a double take. _I'm meeting the President_? Mark clapped him on the back with a smile.

"Man, you get to meet Fitz!" he exclaimed, "I'm so jealous right now." Joe took a deep breath and walked back outside. Three days didn't give him a lot of time to prepare. He would tell his parents it was another militia training op. The less they knew right now the better.


	2. Close Encounter

Joe had a couple days to kill before flying to Texas. He was very excited to be meeting the President of the United States but he forced himself to keep quiet. If his Mom and Dad found out what he was doing it was over. He would be packed off to a GC 'reeducation facility' in no time at all. They were completely under Nicolae Carpathia's spell and did not understand why he joined a militia group. He told them as little as possible about militia operations. If the GC ever questioned them about it, they could honestly say they didn't know anything.

It was very quiet around the house ever since Joe's little brother, Ben, was lost in the vanishings. A spunky eleven year old, he was a fireball of energy, always running all over the place and talking nonstop. Joe missed the way Ben had looked up to him, his Marine big brother.

Joe walked into Ben's empty bedroom. His Dad avoided the place all together and Mom only went inside to clean. She always came back out in tears. Joe sighed. The room was as neat as a pin, the bed made and all of the toys picked up. His video game magazines in a stack atop of his desk and the radio-controlled car Joe gave him for Christmas sat on his dresser. It was a level of neatness Ben would never have tolerated. Cleaning his room was a chore carried out only under protest.

He sat on the bed and his eye caught the picture on Ben's nightstand: a photo of Joe in Iraq, dressed in full battle gear and standing in the turret of an M1A1 Abrams tank. It was Ben's favorite picture of Joe, his big brother, the Marine war hero who would always be there to protect him. Joe being away was very hard on Ben, so he went out of his way to spend time with his kid brother once he was home. They played basketball, went fishing and logged countless hours on the Xbox-360 playing _Call of Duty_. _He was a damn good kid, no wonder God took him away. _

Ben had started going to a local church with Raymie Steele, a kid from next door. He drank in the teachings of Christ and came home one day to announce he was a Christian. For weeks it was all he could talk about. Joe was happy that his brother had something to believe in that gave him hope. He never nagged or pestered Joe into going to church but the invitation was always there.

Then came the morning everything changed. Mom woke up saying that Ben was missing. Half asleep, Joe stumbled to his brother's room to find it empty. He shouted his name but there was no response. Then he looked in the bed and there lay Ben's pajamas, underwear and even his wristwatch. His first thought was that his brother had been kidnapped. But why remove Ben's clothes and put them in his bed? And Ben would have screamed bloody murder if someone tried to take him away. This made no sense at all.

Joe ran outside and saw a car smashed into a tree across the street. All he found was a suit and pants in the driver's seat. His combat training kicked in. This was an attack. He had to get ready to fight. Maybe it was terrorists, or the Chinese, or aliens even. The neighbors ran around in panic while others simply stood in a zombie-like daze. Emergency sirens screamed to life. Standing in the middle of the street, Joe finally noticed one house that was silent as a tomb. Nobody came in or out. He rushed next door to Rayford and Irene Steele's house. The drapes were still drawn tight and Joe pounded on the door. No response. He even called a few times and got no answer. That was when he became sick with fear. It had really happened.

A few months earlier, Ben had come home from church even more excited than usual and started talking about the Rapture, when Jesus would return and take all his followers to Heaven. It would happen in the blink of an eye. To Joe, it sounded like a bad sci-fi movie. He'd teased Ben about getting sick on roller coasters, so streaking to Heaven meant he'd barf on Jesus when he got there. Ben had laughed but insisted it was all real.

Back inside, Joe flipped on the news. It was happening all over the world, in every country. Hundreds of millions of people were missing. Vehicular accidents and plane crashes happened across the country. All of the young children and babies were missing. The U.S. military was on Defcon 2. His little brother had been right all along. That realization had frightened him more than anything in his life.

Joe slowly stood up and took one last look around Ben's room. He was about to leave when he saw the white paper on Ben's desk. He picked it up. A bulletin from New Hope Village Church dated a week prior to the Rapture. Joe flipped through it, noting the address and the pastor's name: Vernon Billings. He stared at the bulletin for a long moment. It'd be worth a visit. Maybe someone there could give him answers. Was it too late, or was there a way to still reach God? Were there more judgments to come? He had to fly to Texas on Tuesday, but he would for sure check out New Hope's next Sunday service. There had to be more to this Rapture thing.

His brother's well-thumbed Bible sat on the corner of the desk and Joe grabbed it. Maybe he could start with that. He flipped through it; many verses were highlighted or had scribbled notes next to them. Every other page had something marked. _Ben did his homework, that's for sure_. _It's as good a start as any_. Joe slipped the bulletin inside the Bible. He would read it through and anything he didn't understand he'd bring up on Sunday. There had to be someone there to talk with.

Two days later, Joe, Major Evers and Pete Townsend drove to O'Hare airport in Chicago for the long flight to Texas. Passing through security, the three men looked for their departure gate. Joe fought down a wave of nerves. This was his first time on a plane since the Rapture. If he had one thing to be thankful for that awful day, it was that he had been safely on the ground when it happened. Being trapped on a crashing plane with no pilots was too frightening to think about. Several major airlines nearly went bankrupt from the panic following the disappearances; it had been months before people flew again confidently.

They reached the gate for Pan-Continental Flight 8164 and Joe plopped into one of the hard plastic seats, his bag between his legs. Ben's Bible was inside and he planned to read it on the plane. He glanced out the huge windows as a 757 roared into the sky. The combination of excitement at meeting Gerald Fitzhugh and his fear of flying again threatened to drive him nuts. His leg bounced in a nervous habit since he was a little kid. Finally, he had to get up and move. "I'm getting a pop, you guys want anything?" His companions shook their heads.

Joe walked to one of the tiny stores along the concourse and bought a cup of Coca-Cola. He sipped the cold drink as he walked. He couldn't help but notice the absence of children at the airport. No babies either, though there were some young teenagers. He remembered flying to Los Angeles when Ben was six. Ben had been so excited that Joe had to practically sit on him to make him keep still.

A small crowd had gathered near a flat screen TV. Joe wandered over to see a GCNN broadcast from Jerusalem. Two men with long beards and wearing ragged clothes railed at the camera. _These guys again_? Calling themselves Eli and Moishe, they had been raising all kinds of hell over the last year and a half. He used to change the channel when they were on but now he was curious.

"_Oh Israel, you who sealed a pact with the Evil One_!" Moishe cried, "_is not too late to repent of thy sins. Hear the words of God, for he sent his one and only begotten Son into the world, not to condemn the world but to save the world through him_. _He, who puts his faith in him, though he shall die, will have eternal life_." Many people shook their heads in disgust but Joe saw a couple people inching closer to the screen, listening intently. Joe forgot all about his drink.

"_Long has the Son of God wished to gather you to him as a mother hen gathers her chicks, but you were not willing. You who stoned the prophets_. _You who crucified the Son of God_. _Do not count yourselves among the blasphemers for they shall be separated as tares from the wheat and thrown into the eternal fire, where there will be great weeping and gnashing of teeth._" Eli added. A chill ran down Joe's spine.

"Love to shoot these guys myself, all they do is spit doom and gloom," a man in a suit declared. Several voices sang out in agreement. Joe hid his own comment behind a sip of Coke.

"They burn anyone who tries to attack them, wanna get barbequed?" a young woman said. Joe couldn't wait to dig into the Bible and see if these guys were in it. There was something about them; he did not know what, that did not seem fully human. He even heard stories that they breathed fire and could kill with a look. They were fascinating and terrifying at the same time.

Deep in thought, Joe walked on autopilot, sipping his Coke. He paid no attention to where was going until he bumped into someone at the back of a huge crowd. The entire concourse was lined with people cheering and shouting. Joe worked his way to the front and instantly saw why. His heart stopped when he saw the athletic, blond and blue eyed form of Potentate Nicolae Carpathia himself working his way down the concourse, smiling and shaking hands. A squad of heavily armed GC peacekeepers held assault rifles at the ready.

Sweat burned its way down his back as Carpathia came closer. Mark Anderson even said he was the Antichrist, the tool of Satan. _Antichrist or not, this dude scares me. He's too slick, like Hitler; and the whole world's kissing his ass_.

"Potentate, right here!" Someone shoved him from behind and Joe collided with Carpathia who put a hand to steady him. Joe's heart stopped. This evil man was face to face with him. A guard stepped forward but the potentate waved him off.

"Are you all right, son?" Carpathia asked with a sweet smile. Joe nodded, his heart pounding like a jackhammer. What was he supposed to say? He wished Major Evers was here.

"I'm, uh, fine, sir, I-I mean Potentate," Joe stammered.

"What is your name?"

"Joe Gannon, sir." It was all Joe could do not to break and run. Nicolae extended a hand and he instinctively shook. The moment he did, something flashed in Carpathia's eyes, something cold and dark and _evil,_ writhing and twisting. Goosebumps erupted up and down his arms. Then it was gone. _What in the hell_?

"Well, it is very nice to meet you Joe Gannon. A fine young man like you will be a valuable asset in our new global village. I wish you all the best in whatever you choose to do," Carpathia oozed. Did Carpathia know what he just saw? Nicolae patted Joe on the shoulder and continued on his way. Joe blew out a long breath. His hands shook and his stomach heaved. _What happened to me_? That look! It was pure evil, like the black gaze of a cobra. That man dripped with venom. _Did God show me the thing Carpathia truly is_? Terrific, now he had something else to keep him up at night.

"Gannon, Slick Nic just came by!" Evers exclaimed. Joe took a steadying breath.

"I know, I shook his hand," Joe said, taking a long sip of his pop. The cold drink helped to steady his nerves. _ I can't tell him what I saw, I'm not sure I believe it even_.

"You're kidding me," Pete said, "bet he's got lily soft hands." Joe smiled and it made feel a little better.

"Kid, you look like you saw a ghost," Evers said. Joe suppressed a shiver. He'd seen some messed up shit in horror movies but that _thing_ he saw in Carpathia's eyes was a thousand times worse. The man was a monster, a demon even. People claimed that Hitler had been demon possessed, maybe Carpathia was too.

"I'm cool, just seeing the Potentate like that, was kinda startling." The gate attendant announced that Flight 8164 was now boarding. Joe picked up his bag and got in line. He quickly reached inside to make sure Ben's Bible was still there. Not even the Rapture had unnerved him this much. Joe felt a hunger to study God's word. There had to be answers in there somewhere and he was going to find them.


	3. Best Laid Plans

Joe sat hunched over his Bible in the window seat in the 767's coach section. God's word captivated him more than he ever thought it would. At first, he read Revelation, the Bible's last book; he was a little late for Genesis. But the book lost him when it started talking about scrolls, trumpets and a ten-headed monster with crowns. Ben had scribbled, 'antichrist' next to that line. _He means Carpathia_. Joe shuddered when he recalled the evil he saw in Nicolae's eyes. A giant, multi headed, King Ghidora-like, rampaging beast sounded about right.

He stretched in the narrow seat and flipped back to the Book of Matthew. It was his favorite part of the Bible. He reread the story of the Roman Centurion asking Jesus to heal a sick servant. Jesus was willing but the officer said that Jesus only had to say the word and the man would be healed. Joe was impressed. As a Marine, his was a strictly regimented world of rank, protocol, regulations and orders. But here a Roman soldier put his faith in a Jewish healer. _If he can do it, why can't I_? _Is it as simple as asking_? He didn't know how to pray, not in the eloquent fashion that chaplains used.

"Studying to be a monk, Gannon?" Stockton Evers said from the next seat. He had a teasing smile on his face. In the aisle seat, Pete Townsend glanced up from his magazine.

"It's my brother's Bible; I'm curious to why he believed this stuff" Joe said and Evers nodded.

"He got raptured, didn't he?" Joe did a double take. _Raptured_?

"Don't look so surprised," Evers said, "my sis was a Jesus nut. Told me all 'bout how He was coming back to bring her to Heaven. And He did. After I stopped freaking out I read her Bible cover to cover. Got right with God before that day was out."

"Old White Beard and I became battle buddies in Desert Storm," Pete piped up, "we got ambushed one night. Iraqis all over us; ammo running out; three guys down. I prayed my ass off." Joe fidgeted in his seat. He never pegged these two tough guys as Christians. Religion seemed too touchy-feely for them.

"So, why are you still here?" Joe finally asked. Pete sighed and scratched his neck. His eyes filled with regret.

"After the war, I went nuts. All that happened, I couldn't handle it. I started drinking. A lot. Joined a biker gang and did shit I ain't proud of. Gave God the finger and we didn't talk until I met Stock. Now it's your turn, kiddo." All three of them laughed.

Joe stared out the window for a moment. He wanted desperately to talk about what happened with Carpathia back at O'Hare. Just thinking about it sent icy chills through his body. He was taking a huge risk telling anyone about it. But God showed it to him for a reason. Joe turned back to his friends.

"Can I tell you guys something, about Potentate Carpathia?" Joe glanced around the cabin; most of the passengers were fast asleep or lost in books or iPods. His two friends leaned close and Joe lowered his voice, telling them about shaking Carpathia's hand and seeing…whatever he saw. "Tell me I'm not crazy."

Evers whistled long and low. He put a comforting hand on Joe's arm. "Damn kid, no wonder you looked so freaked. You're not crazy. Nicky's the antichrist; he's got the Devil in him."

"Like those old guys in Jerusalem were saying," Joe said, "they called him the Beast. So how _do_ I become like you guys?" Stockton and Pete looked at each other, trading grins. It made Joe very nervous to even ask. All of this was so outside his comfort zone. He was a Marine, a soldier. _So was that Centurion_.

"It's like this kid: you gotta admit to God that you're a sinner. Good Book says there ain't one person righteous. _Not one_. Its hell to admit it, believe me. Jesus died for your sins. He took a round meant for you. So all you gotta do is ask for His forgiveness. If you ask honestly and sincerely, He'll forgive, no questions asked. No matter the crap you pulled," Pete said, looking straight into Joe's eyes. The young marine found himself hanging on every word. His heart raced. _It's that easy_?

"After that, Joe, you're His forever. You'll go Heaven and see your brother again," Evers said. Joe looked from one man to another. His gaze drifted back to his Bible and he read the rest of Matthew and went on to the Book of Mark. He concentrated on the passages that Ben had highlighted. Talking with Pete and Stockton took a huge weight off his shoulders.

They landed at Dallas/Forth Worth International and the militia team was greeted by a pair of men wearing dark jackets. The pistol-shaped bulges in their pockets didn't escape Joe's notice. He was going to be very polite to these men.

"Secret Service, gentlemen, may we see your IDs please?" The first agent said, his blue eyes hard and serious. Joe dug his driver's license from his wallet and handed it over. The agent looked from the card to Joe and back again before nodding. "Follow us, please, Fitz is expecting you."

Joe and his friends were led to a black Chevy Suburban and were soon racing through Dallas. He forced himself to relax and enjoy the drive; he had never been to Texas before. They stopped at a light and Joe saw two Global Community Peacekeepers on patrol, armed with M-16s, troops of a foreign power in an American city. _It's just sick_! The American people had bowed to this tyranny and now their freedom was gone forever. But that was why he was here, wasn't it? It felt good to be doing something about this insanity instead of just complaining about it.

The drive took them deep into the countryside, and Joe stared out the window at the Mesquite trees and sage grass, it was all so different from the lush, green forests back in Illinois. The drive went on for hours until they pulled into the long, winding driveway of Gerald Fitzhugh's 1,600 acre ranch. Towering Cedar trees dripping with Spanish moss dotted the front yard. The Suburban stopped in front of a two story A-frame house girded around by a large porch and a top floor balcony promised a spectacular views of the sprawling ranch. The agents ushered Joe and his comrades inside.

A handful of men and women stood talking in the rustic sitting room when Joe, Stockton and Pete walked in. A large wooden conference table sat in the middle of the room and fire raged in the stone fireplace. Joe felt his nervousness return as he looked around. _Relax, Fitzhugh's nothing like Carpathia_.

President Fitzhugh noticed them enter and excused himself from a conversation and rushed over, a warm smile on his rugged face. Pushing sixty, Gerald Fitzhugh was a robust man with short-cropped grey hair and bright blue eyes. He wore a simple dress shirt and slacks but no tie. "Welcome to the war council, gentlemen. You must be Major Evers, nice to meet you."

Stockton shook Fitz's hand and introduced Pete and Joe. The President's grip was strong and he looked Joe straight in the eye with a smile. Joe immediately forgot about his brush with Carpathia at O'Hare. "Right glad to meet you, Mr. Gannon; it's great to see a young fellah devoted to his country. Please, be seated folks. Lots to get done in a short time."

The assembled militiamen took their places at the table and introductions were made all around. Joe noticed that he was by far the youngest person here. Fitzhugh rolled up his sleeves and leaned forward. Joe gave the president his undivided attention. "We all know why were here so let's cut right through it. Nicolae Carpathia is determined to destroy the country we have all sworn to protect. He has to be stopped or America may not even exist for much longer."

"What's the plan, sir?" Evers asked, "my group's sitting on a ton of heavy weapons and we're locked and loaded." Sounds of agreement came from the militia around the table. Fitzhugh took a drink of ice water before he continued.

"Then let's go hunting," The president said and Joe grinned. "I've been in touch with the Prime Minister Cameron of Great Britain and President Pasha of Egypt…sorry, the 'Middle Eastern Commonwealth.' My bad. Anyway, they've had enough of Slick Nic sticking his nose in their politics. Together, we put together a very unpleasant surprise for Boy Wonder."

"Prime Minister Cameron's put together a squadron of Tornado attack fighters armed with nuclear bombs to strike directly at New Babylon. At the same time, an Egyptian armored division will assault Baghdad Airport. Nic's government will be thrown into chaos. No C&C, no communications, no orders." Joe hung on Fitzhugh's every word. He wanted to take notes but couldn't afford to be caught with them. But he liked what he was hearing. _That means we get to whack Carpathia_! _Please let it by my group_.

"So that makes Nicolae _our_ target?" Joe said. Fitzhugh smiled at him and Joe's heart raced. His combat reflexes started to kick in.

"Exactly, Mr. Gannon. My intelligence folks say that Carpathia'll be in DC next month, a perfect time to ambush him away from his HQ. We need to take him out before he ever knows what hit him. He'll be staying at the Capitol Noir Hotel in downtown Washington. I don't want him to check out."

"A cruise missile strike," said an attractive blond-haired woman across from Joe. She had introduced herself as Stacey Wildman of the 1st Virginia Militia. "Bring that hotel down with one missile. It'll fly too low for GC radar to pick up and packs enough TNT to turn the Noir into a heap of rubble."

"How'd you guys find cruise missiles?" Joe blurted out. He doubted the GC would give that kind of firepower away without a fight. It wasn't like raiding trucks carrying machine guns. Stacey fixed him with her steely gaze and Joe gulped.

"You don't wanna know, cutie pie," Stacey drawled. _No, I guess I don't_. He traded glances with Stockton who simply shrugged. Joe felt a twinge of disappointment that their group couldn't kill Carpathia but the President scanned a piece of paper and shook his head. A copy of Carpathia's travel itinerary was passed around the group.

"We for sure need to whack him in DC, "Fitzhugh said, "_but_, Nic's added a stop in Chicago, Illinois the same day. Not even Captain Planet can be in two places at once-"

"But the militia can," Pete finished. He flashed a smile at Joe. Hope swelled in Joe's chest. All of those Stingers were going to be useful after all. Fitzhugh smiled again.

"We can do it, sir, a couple Stingers can bring down _Global Community One_ no problem," Joe exclaimed. He and Mark could do it together. All eyes turned towards the young militiaman. He shot Evers an 'I'm sorry' look but his CO just clapped him on the shoulder.

"As my excited subordinate pointed out, we do indeed have a mess of Stinger missiles. Firing at _GC One_ as she takes off is the best option. Full of fuel and with both engines burning, Carp's gonna crash into Lake Michigan. We're bound to get him in one of the two places." Fitzhugh listened with interest and made a few notes.

"I like it, Major Evers's team will handle Nic in Chicago if he's there. With their boss buried or turned into fish food, New Babylon a black hole in the ground and Baghdad gone dark, the GC will be deaf, blind and leaderless. We can put America back on her feet. Our country was built on revolution, my friends. It's time for a new one." Fitzhugh stood and stared out the window at the setting sun. After a moment, he turned back.

"People, I will not stand here and pretend this wasn't my fault. Carpathia's talk of nuclear disarmament and world unity sounded good. An end to war, an end to strife and poverty…as president of the United States this was exactly what I'd been fighting for." He sighed and turned back. "I was wrong. There, I said it. But it ends now. I swore an oath to uphold the Constitution of the United States of America. It's time to live those words. I have faith in all of you. Old Lady America will rise again stronger than ever. She's a tough gal and she ain't fallen yet."

On the flight back to Chicago the next morning, Joe stared out the window. A dark thought kept resurfacing. About how in World War Two, a group of German generals tried to assassinate Adolf Hitler. They failed and Hitler went mad, ordering all the men tortured and executed. He imagined himself being tortured in the clutches of the GC. He shuddered. _Stop scaring yourself over something that hasn't happened yet_. He was _definitely_ going to New Hope Village Church this Sunday.


	4. War Game

Joe woke up early on Sunday excited about going to church, smiling as he packed up his Bible and slipped out the door. He only wished that Ben was going with him. After hearing Stockton and Pete talk about becoming Christians, he was more determined than ever to find out more. Hopefully, there was still someone at New Hope to help him out.

New Hope Village Church turned out to be a rather small church a few blocks from his house. To his surprise, Joe found the parking lot nearly filled and he took the last available space. The service was about to begin so he slipped into an empty pew towards the back and pulled out his Bible. A pudgy, curly-haired young man with glasses introduced himself as Pastor Bruce Barnes and opened the service. _If he's a pastor, then what the hell's he doing still here_?

"Joey, come here!" a voice whispered and he turned to see Rayford Steele across the aisle, waving him over. He slipped into the pew next to his neighbor and the two shook hands. It had been a while since Joe had seen Mr. Steele and he felt better having someone here that he knew. The congregation rose to sing a hymn and Joe followed along, but he was amazed at how passionately even Rayford sang along.

Pastor Barnes opened his Bible and asked and the congregation to join him in a prayer. Joe watched as heads all over the church bowed. Unsure what to do, he closed his eyes and thought about Ben. _ I wonder if he can see what's happening down here_. Right now Ben was probably driving Jesus crazy. Barnes brought the prayer to a close and Joe leaned forward as the sermon began. Joe flipped through his own Bible and tried to follow along as best he could. He read again the story of Jesus and the centurion. He_ put faith in Jesus, so what am I scared of_?

"I implore all of you not to wait before accepting Christ. The world is already becoming more dangerous and my research shows it's going to get a lot worse. Wars, plagues, judgments, famine and the persecution by Antichrist will put all of us in extreme jeopardy. Dying without Christ in your life means _eternal_ separation from God. Dead is dead and there's no going back. The sooner you accept Jesus the better." A hard knot formed in Joe's stomach at Bruce's warnings. How could things get worse than they already were?

Joe sat in confusion until the service ended. Part of him wanted to just leave and never come back. After all, the militia was going to take care of Slick Nic for good in a few weeks. But Marines never ran. Running meant he might never see Ben again. He turned to Rayford who was standing up to leave. "Ray, is he right about all this?"

"C'mon, I'll introduce you to Bruce, he can explain everything," Rayford said and Joe followed him into New Hope's fellowship hall that was filled with parishioners. Joe helped himself to some coffee and a chocolate donut.

"What's up with Chloe?" Joe asked. The two had dated in high school and though the relationship never really went anywhere, they stayed good friends. Joe spent many long nights in the desert thinking about her as he stared up at the stars from the deck of his Abrams. Rayford smiled behind his coffee.

"She's getting married," Rayford said, "my little girl." Joe did a double take. _Married_? Chloe was only a few months younger than he was but he could hardly imagine getting hitched at this point in his life, maybe in five or six years.

"No way, to whom?"

"Cameron Williams, believe it not, the reporter from _Global Weekly_." Joe laughed around a mouthful of donut. Chloe had certainly moved up in the world, he couldn't help feeling a tiny bit jealous.

"How in the world do you know Buck Williams?" Joe gasped. Rayford smiled fondly and took a long sip of his own coffee. His coverage of the failed Russian attack on Israel two years ago made Cameron 'Buck' Williams a household name. He was already being called the Ernest Hemingway of the 21st Century. _He'd have made a good Marine_.

"Long story kid," Rayford said, "but he was on my plane the night of the Rapture. We sort of collided during our own investigations of what happened. He and Chloe fell pretty hard for each other. Buck's a good kid, kind, compassionate, and a believer. They've got my okay."

"I'd love to meet him," Joe said, "I was in Iraq when the attack went down. Middle of the night all the alarms screamed bloody murder. I watched an entire wing of F-16s haul ass for Israel. Command freakin' out on the radio, nukes inbound, hundreds of MiGs and Backfire bombers…Ray, I was sweating buckets. Then it was all gone, just like that. Miracle of God, it had to be." _And Buck was right in the middle of that mess. Talk about guts_.

"That's an interesting choice of words." Joe looked up as Pastor Barnes appeared at the table. Rayford introduced him to Joe who shook his hand. Bruce smiled warmly. "Yes, you're Ben's brother; it's so nice to finally meet you. He told me some interesting stories."

Joe grinned. "None of 'em are true, sir."

"So you didn't defeat the entire Iraqi Army singlehandedly?"

"No, I had a little help," Joe quipped and they both laughed. "What did you mean about my choice of words?" Bruce suddenly became very serious and leaned forward.

"What you said about the Russian defeat being a 'miracle of God,' it was all predicted in the Bible, thousands of years ago," Bruce said and Joe blinked. _How's that even possible_? He pushed his own Bible across the table. The young pastor flipped through it and showed it to Joe, pointing to Ezekiel 38-39. "It tells how a great enemy from the north invades Israel and is utterly defeated by God Himself. Even says how the war machines were burned for fuel. Remember how IDF troops had to bury the dead soldiers in mass graves before disease spread? That's in here too. Every word came true."

_Okay, that's officially weird._ Joe's blood ran cold as he read and reread the passage. A dark dread bubbled up inside him, the same fear he'd felt that dark night in Iraq. If this part of the Bible was true then what about the rest of it? The ugly stuff about sin and damnation and Hell, was that true too?

"So, what do I do now?" Joe said, "become a Christian like you guys?" Rayford put a gentle hand on Joe's arm and looked straight into his eyes.

"We're not trying to scare you here, but-"

"You're doing a hell of a good job!" Joe said.

"Christ is the way to Heaven, Joe, nobody gets there but through Him," Rayford said, "if you want to survive the next seven years and see your brother again you must put your life in His hands; before it's too late." Joe shook his head. This was too much.

"Listen to me, the world's become a dangerous place and it will only get worse-"

"The world is a shit sandwich without bread, how can it get worse?" Joe snapped, "like worse how?" _Isn't Carpathia bad enough? Isn't losing my kid brother bad enough_?

"Less than half the people still alive today will live to see Jesus return in six years. I am begging you Joe, do not wait too long. You're a soldier but even you may not survive much longer," Bruce said. The fire of absolute conviction burned in the pastor's eyes. Joe swallowed the rest of his coffee but it did nothing to calm his nerves. This was just like those old dudes in Jerusalem were saying. Joe grabbed his Bible, hands shaking.

"I-I-I gotta go," Joe said, "it's been great meeting you, Pastor." He nodded at Rayford and rushed out the door before either man could stop him. He needed to do some serious thinking. _I gotta talk to Pete or Stockton about this_. _Damn, I wish Ben was still here_.

Over the next few weeks, the militia went into high gear with meetings and training ops every other day. Joe led a recon mission to scout O'Hare International Airport for their hit on _Global Community One_. They picked a tree covered hill directly under O'Hare's flight path as the ambush spot. For hours, Joe's team studied airport security patrols and intervals of incoming and departing flights. Every scrap of intelligence helped.

Joe went back to church the following Sunday and drank in Bruce's sermons. It both excited and terrified him at the same time. He wanted dearly to accept Jesus but he held back, even though he didn't know why. It sound so _right_. _Is it because I'm afraid to face my ugly side_ _and admit I'm a sinner_? After all, he had done stupid things in his life, hurt and offended people, and even killed men in the war. But the Bible showed Jesus forgiving much bigger losers than him. Bruce's warnings haunted him, about not having much time left. _What's my big deal_?

Then came Operation Night Stalker, a night infiltration op at Camp Foxtrot, a secret militia training base deep in the woods. Joe put on his woodland camouflage fatigues and darkened his face before jumping in his pickup for the long drive north. The group staggered their rendezvous time so the GC wouldn't detect them. Joe covered his truck with camouflage netting and hiked into the woods, his M-16 rifle fully loaded. Moving stealthily over the rugged terrain, it took him nearly an hour to reach the camp. A hundred militiamen stood in the clearing and a squad stood perimeter security. Joe gave the password and walked through. Tension hung thick in the cool night air. Major Evers saw him and gave a nod.

_Where's Mark_? Joe thought as he looked around. The rest of the group was all here and kickoff was approaching. It wasn't like his young friend to be late for anything. The snap of a twig gave him his answer as Mark and two other kids Joe didn't recognize stepped into the clearing. Joe shot a look at Major Evers.

"Hey Joe," Mark said, "I want you to meet someone-" Evers cut him off.

"Anyone who attends has to go through protocol, _especially_ for a meeting as sensitive as this one. Who are these two?" The militia commander demanded. Joe looked the newcomers over, something about the guy looked very familiar.

"These are my best friends," Mark declared, "I trust them with my life. This is Judd Thompson and Vicki Byrne." Joe smiled a little.

"Right, you got locked up at NDC for that _Underground_ God magazine," Joe said and Vicki smiled wearily. She was beautiful with hair even redder than Joe's own. Her eyes held a hardness though, the look of a survivor.

"They couldn't hold me," Vicki said, "guess I'm just too much of a bad girl." Joe smirked.

"Just glad you got out." Judd stepped forward and it suddenly dawned on him where he had seen this young guy before. He gave Judd a firm clap on the shoulder.

"And you're the dude I saw getting monkey-stomped by the GC on national TV," Joe said, "giving Leon Fortunato what for took some serious brass." Judd shrugged and Joe winced at the fresh bruises on his smooth young face. _Damn you Nicolae_.

"I'm glad someone approves," Judd quipped. There were handshakes and backslaps from several of the militia but Joe noticed quite a few cold looks and scowls. He shared a look with Stockton whose face was unreadable. This was a huge security risk. Joe kept a hand close to his M-16's trigger.

"You let me know if you're bringing buddies next time, the GC has ears everywhere," Evers growled, "Okay, we're wasting time. Judd and Vicki, you two go with Mark's squad. But I don't want you getting involved with the war game, you're observers, hoorah?

"Move out, let's go!" Joe barked and led his squad deep into the dark, tangled woods. Major Evers led them in a series of pushups and sit up and soon even Joe was sweating despite the cool air. He was impressed that Judd and Vicki managed to keep up pretty well. Those two risked their lives for their belief and suffered for it. They were soldiers just like him.

Hours passed as the militia team slinked through the woods, communicating only with hand signals. The objective was to reach an old fire watchtower and secure it before the other teams did the same, as quietly as possible. Joe's team was close, very close. He smiled to himself. _Ben would love this stuff_.

"You guys got choppers out here too?" Judd whispered. Joe heard it too, the loud thumping of helicopter blades, as two Global Community AH-1W Cobra attack choppers, wings heavy with missiles and rockets hovered in the air, spotlights shining through the treetops. Evers cursed aloud.

"_Attention, this is an illegal assembly. You are ordered to lay on the ground with your hands on your head,_" a voice boomed over a loudspeaker. 20mm cannon fire ripped through the foliage. People screamed and some fell flat on the ground and the others ran. More weapons fire snapped a tree in half right next to Joe who dove for cover.

"This way!" Mark hollered. Shrapnel and tree bark rained down on them. Joe felt something hot strike his arm but he ignored it, running as fast as he possibly could, heart racing. The Cobras fired again. He knew exactly where to go, if only they could get there.

"_This is your last warning, lethal force will be used_!" the chopper pilot boomed. Joe knew shooting back would only get him killed but the urge was terrible. There was a deep ravine ahead and Mark leaped over the edge, Judd and Vicki following, grabbing a rope suspended over the edge. Joe was the last one over, rappelling down hand over hand. He swung into a small cave with the rest of his group. A Cobra passed directly outside before flying away.

"Everyone okay?" Joe asked. Heads were counted and the whole group was present, the two kids included. Fortunately there were no serious injuries. Joe pressed a bandage over a cut on his left arm. Major Evers was on a walkie-talkie with the other teams.

"Now what?" Vicki gasped, "we just sit in this cave for the next six years?" Evers lowered the radio and shook his head.

"Those birds'll be gone in a few hours and we can go back to our cars." The cave linked up to a larger cave a few miles away, the perfect way to lose any GC forces. Vicki actually looked shaken; something Joe didn't think was possible given her recent experiences.

"You sounded like you expected this!" Judd said, still breathing hard.

"We knew they were onto us," Evers replied.

"Then why take a chance?"

"We let the GC find us once and Nic hears about a bunch of guys doing pushups in the woods, he think small potatoes. Meanwhile, the others are preparing a major assault," Evers explained. Joe forced a grin, decoy duty always sucked. He couldn't wait to get home and take a long shower. It might be the last respite he would get for a very long time.

At the Nike base the next afternoon, Major Evers ran through the daily intelligence briefings and then called Joe and Mark into his tiny office in the command center. Shutting the door, the militia's commander turned on Mark.

"The hell were you thinking, bringing those two on the op last night?" he barked, standing nose to nose with Mark. "That was a _major_ security breach. Now two more people know what we're planning and one word to the wrong person, the GC shuts us down. They'll dump you in a hole that makes Abu Ghraib look like summer camp!"

Mark didn't flinch. "Sir, I trust Judd and Vicki with my life, we've been through our own wars together. I'm very sorry, this will never happen again-"

"Damn right it won't!" Joe snapped, "from now on, you will _not_ bring in outsiders, unless they clear the protocols. Dude, my own parents don't know what I'm doing here. You either follow our rules or you're out for good. We need you here. You're a good soldier. But rules will be obeyed. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir!" Evers dismissed him and Joe sighed deeply. _Kids_, he thought.

"What do you think?" Joe asked and Evers lit up a cigarette. "There's no way he's GC."

"Never said he was, but the GC knew exactly where to find us…" Joe crossed his arms.

"No way," he said, "Stock, you saw what the GC did to Judd at his graduation; Vicki got tossed into NDC, in the same cell with dope pushers and baby killers; 'cause they stood up for Jesus. It can't all be a ruse."

Stockton stretched behind his desk and smiled at last. "It'll be over in a week anyway. Nic's dead and Fitzhugh's back in business. I'm getting too old for this shit, Gannon."

"One last battle, sir," Joe said, "one for the history books." The two men shook hands. It was time for a second American Revolution.


End file.
